


sweet dreams

by ixie_nay



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Everything About This Is Dubious Basically, M/M, Masturbation, Mind Control, Subliminal Messages, Wet Dream, authorial self-indulgence, dubious psychology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 16:15:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15688935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ixie_nay/pseuds/ixie_nay
Summary: There's something weird about the playlist Eli put together for him.  Gavin can't put his finger on what, though.





	sweet dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate summary: a purely self-indulgent hypnokink fic with a horribly cliche premise that got away from me a little. whoops.
> 
> yes, I know "subliminal messages" aren't actually a thing that works. JUST ACCEPT IT FOR THIS ONE TIME OKAY
> 
> **content notes:** consent here is a little iffy, as is typical for this trope. of course, Gavin can't be made to do anything he doesn't actually want to do, so...take that however you like. [rubs gay little hands together in glee]

Gavin jerks his ankle up onto his knee, double-tapping an ace to send it to the top of the screen.

He should probably be reading the case file on the terminal in front of him, but he can’t fucking focus on that; the siren call of Solitaire is too strong.  Not that it matters — he’s at home, anyway. Off the clock. If he wants to play card games on his phone and listen to the playlist of old trap music Elijah made for him turned all the way up instead of pore through boring-ass witness reports, who’s gonna stop him?

A siren Dopplers by outside his window, the vehicle’s lights flashing off the walls.  He curls his lip, adjusts his wireless earbuds to block it out. Ambulance. Idly, he wonders if there’s an actual human person driving it.

Not that he gives a shit.  Doesn’t matter _now_ , does it?  If there’s a plastic driving, it’s getting paid for it, like a real boy.

Like Connor.  Like Connor’s new buddy.

Gavin doesn’t want to be thinking about his — his _partner_ , Jesus, right now.  Stupid tall-ass motherfucker.   _I have no assigned name, I do not need one._  Like Gavin’s gonna yell AR-KAY NINE HUNDRED anytime he wants that hunk of polymer and wires to do something.  Nines is fine. It’s not a nickname, it’s just a shortcut.

He slides a six of clubs over with his thumb, rucks up his shirt to scratch at his stomach.  He should probably go to bed soon.

And it’s not.  It’s not like he has a _problem_ with the thing.  Nothing personal, really.  But having a single tin man in the precinct doing Gavin’s job was one thing; _two_ is starting to look like a hostile takeover.  That’s how it started with retail jobs. Assistant androids who did the humans’ jobs better than the humans did, who complained less, who didn’t need raises or limitations on working hours, who were programmed not to argue.

Making sure they get paid probably helps with that, sure, but it still _feels_ wrong, goddammit.

~~_relax_ ~~

Bass thuds in his ears, in his brain.  He’s not really paying attention to the music, more just feeling it; it’s a nice sensation, vibrating through the bones in his head, the rhythm pulling at his muscles.   _Ooh, I’mma act a damn fool, yeah._  A slow, draggy, weed-smoke beat.  Does he have any weed left? He’s gonna have to call Jan soon, get some more.  She always has the good shit.

And it doesn’t help that the damn thing looks almost exactly like Connor.  Same sharp jawline, same cleft chin, same soft mouth. It’s a nice mouth. Gavin’s thought so, to his own horror, ever since he first saw Connor in the interrogation room.  The way it parts just a little right before he says something, on the left side first, not quite symmetrical.

It.  Right before _it_ says something.

Nines doesn’t have those big, earnest doe eyes, though.  CyberLife obviously wanted to make Connor’s upgrade scarier, with its fucking ice-chip blues.  And it’s _bigger_.  Not enough bigger to be ridiculous — Gavin can’t imagine anything with _Connor’s_ twinky face being built like one of those construction bots — but enough that they can’t be mistaken for each other.  It’s broader in the shoulder, maybe two inches taller. Meant to intimidate rather than ingratiate. Staring down (down, _down_ ) its nose at Gavin, like he’s an especially interesting bug crawling on its perfectly shined shoes.  Like he’s a fascinating piece of less than nothing. Like he’s...

Gavin blinks hard, trying to shake the thoughts, the _tiredness_ , from his head.

~~_touch_ ~~

He notices, loosely, that he’s still running his fingers over his abs, up and down through the hairs, tracing the divot that runs down into his navel.  Feels nice. He wets his lips, settles deeper into his chair. Moves a stack of cards over, then moves it back. This round might be unwinnable. Fuck.

He resets the game.  Two aces already, sweet.  

He’s not attracted to it.  That would be fucking stupid, like — like getting turned on by a coffee machine, or something.  Doesn’t matter if it _looks_ like the kind of person Gavin would be eyeballing down the bar, maybe thinking about sucking his dick in the bathroom.  Nines is a machine. A thing that looks like a person. Doesn’t matter what anybody says. Or what his dick thinks. Gavin’s dick is an idiot, he’s known that for a while.

He remembers the way its hand wrapped all the way around his arm, fingers and thumb almost overlapping.  How it yanked him away from Connor and into the breakroom like he weighed six pounds soaking wet. How it leaned close and demanded he _behave_ , icy eyes pinning him to the wall.

~~_horny_ ~~

He hasn’t made any moves, he realizes.  He’s just been staring at his phone, sort of unfocused, distracted by his thoughts and the feeling of his own fingers dragging the hem of his shirt up towards his chest.  He sighs. It’s been a few months since he’s gotten laid. Hasn’t had time. That’s all it is. Doesn’t have anything to do with what he’s been thinking about.

Yeah.  He’s just horny because it’s been a while.  Nothing to get worked up about.

~~_touch.  horny_ ~~

It feels good, letting his fingers find a nipple, tease it.  Rubbing little circles, in time with the slow bass throb pulsing in his head.  Feels so good. His vision blurs.

~~_don’t think.  feels good_ ~~

Hard to think.  But that’s normal, when he’s turned on.  Always hard to think when you’re horny. It’s not a big deal.  Besides, it feels good, not to think for a while, to just let himself sink back into the steady rise of arousal and stop trying to _fight_ so much.  He doesn’t have anything to prove right now.  There’s nobody here but him. And, well, there’s Dez, but she’s in the bedroom and can’t see him, so she doesn’t count.  And she’s not the judgey type anyway.

~~_horny.  don’t think_ ~~

Is there someone talking to him?  A soft voice, somewhere behind the bass, vaguely familiar.

~~_relax.  don’t think.  touch_ ~~

The thought melts out of his head.  It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but his fingers pinching and flicking his nipple, heavy thick pleasure dripping through his skin, his head dropping back, his eyes rolling up.  The phone falls from his loose grip. He barely notices.

~~_touch_ ~~

His now-freed hand flattens against his abs, fingers spread, feeling the muscles twitch and flex.  Drags down. Sparks of bliss flickering bright in the space between his hips, down his thighs, as he teases himself just under the waistband of his sweatpants.  Slipping his fingertips in and out, playing with the hair around his dick. Fuck, that feels good. So fucking horny.

The music is nothing but a low throb, now, pulsing in his blood, in his bones, thrumming deep in his brain.  Emptying it out. Telling him how good this feels, how much he needs this, that he should just touch and not think, and Gavin nods, slack, unable to do anything else.

~~_don’t think.  touch. so hard.  so good_ ~~

He palms his cock, wraps his hand around the shaft, swipes his fingers over the slit.  He’s so hard, dripping already, gasping as fire surges through his nerves. “ _Fuck_ ,” he pants, and he can’t quite hear himself, muffled through the earbuds.  His spine arches in waves, hips rolling slow and lazy. “Fuck, that’s so. Yeah.”

~~_don’t come_ ~~

He can’t come just like that, it’d be embarrassing, and besides, he doesn’t want to end this so quick.  Should enjoy himself a little. He squeezes himself, just this side of too hard, reaches down a little further to play with his balls.

~~_listen.  touch_ ~~

It’s like — he can practically _hear_ Nines, in his ear, that low flat voice telling him ~~_don’t come_~~ not to come, yet, how pathetic it would be if he made a mess of himself so soon, how _disappointed_ it would be in him if he refused to ~~_obey_~~ obey such a simple command.  How _~~feels so good~~_ good it’ll feel to ~~_obey_~~ do what he’s told, to hold off, to _wait_ until he’s allowed —

His hand dips lower, further back, a slick fingertip teasing at his asshole, and that’s — that’s fucking _perfect_ , it’s so good, God.  It’s like he’s not even in control of his own body anymore; his foot propped on the edge of his desk to give his teasing fingers better access, what few thoughts he can manage swirling around cool blue eyes and long graceful hands and that _voice_.  Filling up his hollowed-out head.   ~~ _obey_~~ Obey.   ~~ _obey_ ~~  Obey.  It’s so easy.   _f ~~eels good~~_ Feels so good.

Two fingers, now, slipping in and out.  Other hand jacking himself, slow, teasing, as his head lolls.  There’s drool trickling out of the corner of his mouth. He barely notices.

~~_obey.  listen.  obey. listen_ ~~

Noises, grunts and moans and slurred curses that might be his.  Doesn’t matter. The heat is overwhelming, melting him, pleasure surging through every vein, curling tight in his belly, his balls drawing up.  Needs to come so bad. So fucking bad. It’s all he knows, all he can remember, Nines murmuring _obey, obey me, you want to obey me_ into both his ears at once as he nods, desperate, he’ll do anything any-fucking-thing if it means he can _come_ —

~~_obey.  come_ ~~

— _come for me,_ says Nines, and Gavin snaps rigid, mouth open, breath caught, hand flying, winding tighter and tighter until he spills, white-hot bliss crashing over him in waves, his mind completely blank with it.  Going on forever, wave after wave, throbbing in his bones even after he falls lax, panting.

~~_come.  obey.  come_ ~~

~~_sleep_ ~~

His eyes slide shut.  He drifts into blackness.

* * *

_on his back, spread out.  sheets a mess. cool eyes, lidded but unblinking.  can’t look away._

_“this is what you want.”  smooth fingers, tracing the curves of his chest, his abs._

_the word slips out, hazy:  “yes.” it’s true._

_“this is what you need.”_

_“yes.”_

_can’t move.  can’t look away._

_soft touches, creeping lower.  limbs so heavy, so warm. “you need to be controlled.”  smooth fingers, wrapping around his dick._

_helplessly, no resistance:  “yes.”_

_“you need me to control you.”_

_stroking. slow, teasing, melting.  bottomless blue eyes. “yes.” there are no other words.  just yes. always yes._

_“good.”  voice echoing.  “come for me.”_

_“ye-es,” orgasm flowing, cresting, flowing._

_“come for me.”_

_a loop, blissful recursion, “yeeesss.”_

_“come for me.”_

_“aa-ah, yes —”  can’t think, can’t move, can’t look away.  can’t do anything but come._

_“forget.  come for me.”_

_too much, too much, no more words, just sounds._

_“forget.  come for me.”_

_forget what?  “uh-uhhnnn —” forget...doesn’t matter, nothing matters._

_“come for me.”_

* * *

Gavin blinks awake, face down in his pillow.  His earbuds are still in, silent. Probably dead.  There’s a damp spot under his hips, and — he reaches down — yep, that’s cum drying in flakes in his stomach hair.

He flips over, grinning to himself.  Too bad he can’t remember what he was dreaming about.  Must’ve been fun.

No point in trying to get back to it, though.  Clock says five-forty-two, his alarm’s gonna go off in twenty minutes; not enough time to catch any more sleep.  Which is shitty. He hates waking up right before his alarm.

Weird, though.  When was the last time he had a wet dream?  He was what, twenty-seven?

Whatever.  Doesn’t matter.

He slips his earbuds out, turns the alarm off.  Lies back. If he gets in the shower now, he might have time to jerk off real quick before work.  And there’s no reason not to get up — he feels weirdly well-rested, which is a surprise, given how late he was awake last night.

Can’t remember exactly _how_ late, but it’s not like he keeps track of that shit anyway.

Dez has noticed he’s awake; she’s periscoping from the pile of substrate under the heat lamp, staring into his soul with her little beady ball python eyes.

“You know you don’t get fed until Saturday,” Gavin says.  She flickers her tongue at him, like the rude little bitch she is.  “I’m not giving you anything. You’re already fat.”

He hauls himself out of bed, wanders over to open the top of her vivarium.  Everything looks good — humidity levels are okay, plants are healthy, she’s got enough clean water.  Substrate might need refreshing in a couple days. Her scales are bright and smooth, no stuck shed.

She flicks her tongue at his hand, bumps his thumb with her nose.  He doesn’t really have time to handle her right now, but he can rub her head at least.

“You’re the only one who understands me, Dez,” he sighs.  “But you know that, I tell you that every fuckin’ day.”

Dez rests her chin on his fingers for a second, then slithers off into her hide.  “Fine. I see how it is.”

Gavin adjusts her heat lamp and wanders away to get a shower.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm gonna add another chapter to this, don't worry. tags will be updated as events warrant.
> 
> comments, kudos, and suggestions are all more than welcome. i feed on your praise


End file.
